Page 3 of Winters Heat

The man ignored the truck maneuvering its way into the crack of space. Winters blew the horn again and leaned out the window, ready to threaten life, limb, and loved ones.

“Move your car.” Honking wasn’t getting him anywhere, but he did it again. Then again and again. Still no help.

He dropped the gear into neutral and slammed the gas pedal down. The truck revved like a road warrior. The driver, who was fast becoming a sworn enemy, flinched, then tapped into the survival part of his brain and pulled over. Winters moved to the shoulder, pushed the pedal to the floor, and redlined it.

A half mile later, the source of the traffic problem appeared. Three lanes of a four-lane highway were closed for paving. Bright orange barriers and men with neon yellow reflector vests milled about machinery.

The one open lane had a fender bender. Two men with cell phones glued to their ears pointed at their bumpers. Winters hit the brakes in time to jet through the construction entrance, rumble over an unpaved section, and cross in front of all the stopped traffic. Dear God, let there be an immediate exit.

The GPS interrupted his prayer. “Exit highway in one hundred and fifty feet. Your destination will be on the right.”

What do you know?He should pray more often.

He pulled off the highway exit. The motel was ahead, and he bounced over the rough entrance. The vacant lot had faded parking space lines and crater-like potholes. Knee-high weeds ran the length of the curb. A black Taurus was at the end of the lot. Fan-fuckin-tastic.

Winters parked his pickup truck around the side, ran through a quick ammunition and supply check, and closed in on the pay-by-the-hour room. He jogged by several silent rooms, then heard muffled words and a feminine yell.Son of a bitch.As much as he didn’t like to work with weepy women, he would rain hell on anyone hurting them. Weeping or not.

One heel kick and the cheap door splintered off of broken hinges. Surprise was on his side. Winters held the Glock in his right hand and used his teeth to pull the pin from a tear gas charge the size of a cherry bomb. Nothing too serious, but enough for a distraction. Perfect for overwhelming a small room with a little smoke and burn.

He tossed it in with a shouldn’t-have-fucked-with-me grin. The sparse room filled with the hissing smoke. The three other occupants clawed at their faces and covered their tearing eyes. In the smoky haze, their gagging noises, harsh sputters, and coughs littered the room like three teenagers wheezing on their first cigarettes.

Winters was trained for the gas. Prepared for it. Hell, the bitter taste in his mouth was almost pleasant, a Pavlovian effect tied to the adrenaline rush of throwing one of those babies into a room. Pull. Pop. Hiss. He loved it every single time.

He wanted to brawl, to clash, and take them down. Hard. They shouldn’t have screwed with his day. They shouldn’t have stuffed Miss-Khakis-and-Cardigan into the trunk of their car.

He moved with a single step to the closest man and punched, breaking the man’s nose, which felt as gratifying as it sounded.

Winters smiled and beckoned for more.Come and play. The man staggered backwards in the haze, head in hand, blood seeping through his fingers.

The second man lurched toward him, arms swinging, as he jumped side to side. Winters jabbed an elbow into his attacker. The man reeled back, sucking in the acrid smoke in uncontrolled gasps.

Hopefully, one of them would hop up jack-in-the-box style, so he could have another round. Knees bent and body agile, he readied. The first man gained his bearings. Winters egged him on. “Try me.”

The man charged. Winters landed a punch to his bloodied face.Thud. Knocked out.

The second man staggered forward, brandishing a switchblade with untamed, arching slashes. Looked like the same blade he pushed against the woman’s midsection earlier. That was a mistake. Both then and now.

“You’re going to wish you didn’t bring that out to play today. Never should have threatened the lady. Never should have gotten in my way. Never, ever should have fucked up my job.”

Winters grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted toward the stained popcorn ceiling. A bone cracked. The knife hit the dirty floor. And all the while, a feminine fit of coughs reverberated from near the back closet. She was choking on the gas and hadn’t moved to escape.

“Are you hurt?” he called to the woman.

No answer. Only gasps as she stumbled through the smoke.

“Where’s the package?”

“Go to hell.” Her words wheezed and faded.

Of course. What’d he expect? His lips upturned in a mixture of annoyance and exasperation, and his eyes burned as his tolerance for the gas neared its threshold. “Do you have it or not?”

The woman scampered and made a weak maneuver to escape. He stepped in front of her with a menacing grunt. This lady wasn’t going anywhere.

She wilted without fresh air. As he countered her next move in their hasty dance, she backed into the corner again. He continued to question her, gruff and with quick efficiency, but only more coughs responded. She sniffled and wiped at her watering eyes. He felt bad. Almost.

“Stay put,” he said.

He pulled plastic zip ties, his handcuff of choice, out of his back pocket and secured the unconscious men to a table. The woman jumped from her crouch in the corner. She fumbled toward the busted door, arms outstretched, wailing a determined cry. He hooked an arm around her waist. She flailed, arms pumping and legs bicycling the Tour de France.

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